Russia’s shadow war against Europe is a multiple pronged attack on NATO and other countries. In the northeastern sector of this front line, shoving developing world migrants through border fences has long played a role. In October, this campaign took a new and ominous turn.
On October 6, masked and armed individuals tried to drive at least 20 migrants from Belarus into Latvia, threatening the Latvian soldiers confronting them, according to the public media account. Hours later, masked people again crossed into Latvia, damaged an electricity distribution box, stole surveillance cameras and returned to Belarus before border guards arrived.
Interior Minister Jānis Dombrava warned that Belarus should expect serious consequences. This was not another episode of migration pressure but an armed intimidation and sabotage to a route already being used to pressure Latvia’s border. About 1,000 migrants monthly attempt to cross the frontier with Belarusian assistance.
Latvia called the episode a manifestation of the hybrid threats it faces. The head of the State Border Guard said the attackers might have been organized criminals rather than state personnel. Aliaksandr Lukashenka, the Belarusian dictator, then took the Soviet-era step of blaming Latvia for breaching its own border, while later a previously unknown group calling itself Chyornye Rusy (Black Rus) claimed responsibility.
Jānis Sārts, director of NATO’s Strategic Communications Centre of Excellence, told the Moscow Times that such a group could not operate independently in Belarus or Russia, and described its video as an information operation linked to both authorities.
If that assessment is right, the proxy’s value lies in its uncertainty. Minsk and Moscow can deny a provocation while Latvia is forced to spend military attention and political capital on it. It has already spent around $300m building more than 260 miles of fencing with Russia and Belarus.
Russia and Belarus have used this pressure point before, though not identically. In 2021, Belarus organized flights and internal transport to move migrants towards the EU, first to Lithuania and then to Latvia and Poland. In response, the EU widened sanctions to cover transport companies, tour operators and hotels that supported the crossings. In late 2023, Russia applied similar pressure at Finland’s border.
The EU Commission’s 2024 review treats the two episodes as part of the same problem. It notes that the revised Schengen Borders Code permits temporary closure of external crossing points in cases of instrumentalization, while the 2024 crisis regulation allows limited derogations from ordinary asylum procedures. The legal shift matters, as it lets governments defend the border without pretending that every person pushed across it is a combatant. That distinction is now being put to the test.
Latvia’s response shows how quickly a migration issue becomes security policy. It extended the enhanced border-security regime through the end of the year and kept the armed forces supporting the Border Guard. By October 7, officials said they had stopped 11,925 people from crossing this year, nearly matching 2025’s full-year 12,046 and more than twice 2024’s 5,388, according to the same Latvian report.
On October 14, Prime Minister Andris Kulbergs said the government had approved greater powers for border services, including wider scope for “kinetic measures” along the eastern border. The next day, the Saeima (Latvian Parliament) backed tougher penalties for organizing illegal migration, raising the maximum prison term in the most serious cases from 10 to 12 years.
These decisions are understandable. They also reveal the trap: every escalation by the organizer invites a national response that can blur the line between border control, counter-sabotage and military force. And that is precisely the point of shadow warfare; much like the drone incursions that have proliferated in Baltic state airspace and beyond, they seek to confuse and disrupt NATO allies.
Europe has stepped in to help. Poland sent border guards to aid Latvia monitor the frontier from October 19 to November 1 under a bilateral agreement, while Finnish, Estonian and Lithuanian teams have also assisted this year.
At the October 15–16 European Council, leaders condemned Russia’s hybrid campaigns and called for further sanctions, tighter visa policy for Russian nationals and accelerated counter-drone work. They also welcomed Commission work on an emergency framework covering all forms of instrumentalization. The EU’s Russia sanctions regime already includes the weaponization of migrant flows and has been extended to October 9 next year. Its Belarus sanctions regime also covers transport operators and others that have facilitated illegal crossings. Minsk’s response has been retaliation rather than de-escalation. On October 19, Belarus barred some Latvian goods, citing its “unfriendly” policy.
The European response is necessary, but is not (at least yet) a strategy. If Moscow can turn migrants into a trigger for military escalation, it can make the EU argue about asylum on the Kremlin’s terms. Closing crossings may stop an immediate operation, but it can also make European law look like a liability.
The answer is neither naïveté nor a permanent exception. Europe needs a border capability that can identify organizers and protect soldiers while preserving a credible route for genuine claims. That requires intelligence-sharing and coordinated European action at the frontier, not just national announcements after each provocation.
It is not credible that the Belarusian dictatorship, heavily in hock to the Kremlin, knew nothing of events on its heavily policed border. Instead this is very likely a new effort designed to confuse and intimidate in the hope (and with the risk) that an event erupts into escalation.
It has turned a border crossing into a test of military restraint and European legal cohesion. The migrant weapon is no longer only about numbers; rather, it is increasingly about coercion at the point where humanitarian duty meets military vulnerability.
Maciej Bukowski is the Head of the Energy and Resilience Program at the Casimir Pulaski Foundation in Warsaw and is a non-resident fellow with the Center for European Policy Analysis (CEPA), where he writes about issues including Central European security.
Europe’s Edge is CEPA’s online journal covering critical topics on the foreign policy docket across Europe and North America. All opinions expressed on Europe’s Edge are those of the author alone and may not represent those of the institutions they represent or the Center for European Policy Analysis. CEPA maintains a strict intellectual independence policy across all its projects and publications.
